


If I Fall (can you let me down easy)

by maybe_we_were



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Breakfast, Carrying, F/M, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Ice, Perceptive Wanda, Post-it Notes, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybe_we_were/pseuds/maybe_we_were
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha slips on some ice, leading to a trip to medical, a dropped Post-it note, and a confused Steve.</p><p>Chapter 2:  Steve's point of view and what happens the next day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!! Sorry I've been away. I took my car in for an inspection and a whole lot of things went wrong, so I was busy trying to take care of that. I wrote this new fic in the meantime, and I have to say, I like it quite a bit! The inspiration came from something I heard from a friend about. Please enjoy and feel free to leave comments! 
> 
> As always, these guys are definitely not mine (though I wish they were, so they could be together).

Tony could have picked a better location for the new Avenger’s base. 

There’s no denying that upstate New York is beautiful, but the harsh winters aren’t exactly fun.  Every day, there is a chance for black ice or snow, the wind chill and low temperatures keeping most inhabitants of the base indoors.  Unfortunately, to get from the training facility to the living quarters, though, they have to go outside.

Natasha had just finished up training with Wanda, the pair working on their cardio, while Steve decided to go at some punching bags.  Having walked over to the facility together, the trio decided to walk back together, too.

She tugs on her dark blue parka and sticks her hands in her pockets as they leave the building.  The cool air feels good on her warm skin, especially since she was getting too hot with her coat on inside. 

“How is Vision’s cooking lately?” she asks, keeping in step with Wanda, which leaves Steve trailing behind them by a few feet. 

“Well, it could definitely use some work,” Wanda replies, the fur lined hood of her burgundy jacket muffling the sounds a bit.  Natasha knows the two of them have gotten closer, ever since Vision saved her in Sokovia.  While his attempts at cooking for Wanda are cute, Wanda has confided in her that it’s tough because she doesn’t want to hurt Vision’s feelings when he asks her how everything tastes. 

She looks over at Wanda, who has cracked a grin, and laughs as well.  Not paying attention to where she’s walking, she doesn’t even realize she has stepped on an icy spot until her feet are moving out from under her.  Her arms flail a little, an automatic response, while her center of gravity moves towards the ground.  Her hands splay on the ground beside her, effectively stopping her from hitting her head and back off the cement.  No doubt, her butt is going to hurt later, but she is mostly concerned about her ankle. 

She’s just sitting there, kind of in shock from her crash landing.

“Natasha!” she hears, at the same time she hears, “Nat!” 

“Are you hurt?” 

This time it’s Steve, his tall form crouching down next to her, his hand resting on her back.  She’s not even sure how he got next to her so quickly.

“I’m alright, I think,” she replies, “other than my ankle.”

She watches as his blue eyes flick down, then widen when they see the odd angle her foot landed at.  Her ankle is throbbing now, to the point where every second she feels a sharp pain go through it.

“I’m taking her to medical,” Steve says, his eyes now on Wanda.  His voice gives the impression that there is no room for argument, and although she hates going to medical (and always has), Steve is right about her need to see a professional.  This isn’t something she can fix on her own, like giving herself stitches or cleaning out a wound. 

“This might hurt,” Steve’s voice warns as he lifts her up off the ground, one hand under her knees while the other supports her back.  Her hands automatically reach around his neck, which is covered by the collar of his fleece zip up. 

They are still for a moment, most likely to let her foot adjust to the new angle it’s hanging at.  Steve starts making purposeful strides in the opposite direction they were heading, back towards the medical facility, which is right next to the training room.  Wanda keeps pace, using her badge and pulling the door open so they can get inside. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks as they move through the building, alone since Wanda left to go prepare dinner.

She won’t admit it, but every step he takes makes her foot bounce slightly, causing a jolt of pain with each movement.  She also won’t admit that she kind of likes the way he’s holding her, cradled to his chest as if his only thought right now is to protect and help her.  She _definitely_ won’t admit that she’s thought of him carrying her like this before, to places other than medical.

“Hot,” she says, using humor to not let on the discomfort she’s in.  Removing one hand from his neck to pull down the zipper of her parka, she sighs as cool air invades the space she created.

“Better now.  Though I think ice will help my ankle.”

She chuckles at that because…well, ice is what got her here in the first place.  Luckily, they arrive at medical quickly, aided by the automatic doors of the medical wing.  Steve sets her down on one of the beds and, after seeing that no one is there, presses the page button on the front desk. 

He returns and stations himself in one of the plush chairs next to her bed, scooting it forward so it is closer to her. 

“Do you have your badge with you?” he asks, ditching his sweatshirt so he can also be cool.

Steve’s question reminds her that she needs to get it out.  It is standard procedure for pulling up any personal records and for access to buildings and other security features.  It also helps cut down on the amount of paperwork everyone has to do, so she’s not complaining.

She digs around in her pocket for her badge holder, pulling out all of the miscellaneous papers she has in it in order to get her base ID.  As she rifles through the papers that include also her license and twenty dollars to look for it, a folded piece of paper falls out and floats to the floor.

She tenses as she realizes what is it, while Steve bends over to pick it up off the ground.  She _hopes_ that he won’t take notice and just give it back to her, but of course she isn’t that lucky.

Steve’s eyes squint a little before he unfolds the post-it note she has kept with her.

“Is this…” he trails off, seemingly at a loss for words.

She watches him straighten the crease, taking care to open the note he left for her a bit ago.

Steve has a habit of posting sticky notes somewhere in her apartment (or occasionally, in the kitchen), for her to read.  It started off simple, with little reminders about extra training, requests to meet for dinner, or ideas that he wanted her opinion on, but has since moved to other random thoughts Steve has. 

The last one he left was two days ago, a note that said, _Your hair looks great_ , which she appreciated after taking the time to create a French twist.  But _this_ particular note was something else.  

It arrived three weeks prior, stuck on her apartment door.  After a lengthy mission, she finally had the chance to return to base.  She had taken a shower and thrown on some comfy clothes before heading towards the main kitchen for a cup of tea.  As she walked down the hallway between her apartment and the kitchen, she caught her reflection in the decorative mirror that hung on the wall.  Immediately, she noticed the dark bags under her eyes, the way her hair was hanging in crazy waves, and how the mostly healed cut from a recent extraction-gone-wrong peeked out on her forehead.  She began to touch the bags under her eyes, as if it would make them go away and then moved the part of her hair over so it covered more of the cut. 

Steve appeared out of nowhere, or so it seemed, probably because she was focused on how she looked.  He stopped so that she could see his reflection behind her in the mirror, a questioning look on his face. 

“Are you ok?” he asked, his voice conveying his confusion at finding her stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Yeah, just fixing this mess,” she answered, gesturing to herself. 

When she found the note later, she knew it was from Steve, based on his neat penmanship. 

 _No need to fuss, you look beautiful._ _:)_

She was stunned when she got it, and has kept it since, as a reminder.  She pulls it out on days when she needs something to make her smile or feel better.  Steve using a smiley face alone makes her face break out into a grin.  There’s a small part of her, though, that echoes in the back of her mind, telling her that there is more to her keeping the notes then what she lets on.  That maybe, he’s found a way to break past the walls she so carefully built up. 

His eyes flick up to hers, an unreadable look passing through them, making her feel like she needs to explain.

“The reason I have that-

“Hello,” a voice says, cutting her off, “How can I help you?”

Perfect timing.

“She slipped on some ice.  It looks like she may have sprained her ankle pretty severely,” Steve answers, speaking with the middle-age female doctor. 

The doctor introduces herself as Dr. Jones and then goes through the motions of swiping her badge, taking some x-rays (thankfully ruling out any fractures), and wrapping up her foot.  Armed with pain medication and a crutch, she’s ready to check out, but before she can, the doctor asks her to wait a few minutes, because the pain meds will make her sleepy.

“Thank you,” Steve says, shaking hands with Dr. Jones, "I’ll be sure she gets to her apartment ok and gets some ice on her ankle.”

It’s while he’s saying that that Natasha feels her eyelids start to droop, an insane urge to sleep taking over.  The last thing she recalls is something warm touching her, rough fingertips on her arm, and then nothing.

 

She wakes up in her bedroom, the majority of her body covered with a thick blanket and her foot raised up on a pillow.  The room is relatively dark, but her eyes catch the crutch that is propped up next to the door.  Her mouth feels dry, most likely an effect of the medication, and she’s grateful to find a glass of water on the nightstand.  She chugs the water in a few gulps and places the glass in its original location. 

She doesn’t remember how she got here, and certainly doesn’t recall using a crutch or putting a glass of water on her nightstand.  She _does_ remember Steve helping her get to the medical wing.  A piece of paper is next to the lamp and the size is that of a sticky note.  She picks it up and reads it, which doesn’t take long because there are only two words on it.

_Look down._

She does as the note says and looks down on the floor to find Steve asleep on a makeshift bed he must have made.  His chest rises and falls with each even breath he takes.  She has a feeling that he positioned himself there that if she needed anything during the night, he could help her or at least be aware of what she was doing. 

She leans back down on the bed and doesn’t even try to hold back a smile, folding the note and placing it in the nightstand’s drawer to add to her collection.


	2. I Need You To Know (you can fall into me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's thoughts after Natasha falls, and the day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm so happy to see all of the feedback on this story. You all are lovely! Here is a little of Steve's point of view and a continuation of the story. You guys are the best!

“The reason I have that-

Steve’s attention is fully on Natasha, waiting to hear _why_ she has one of the notes he left for her in her badge holder, but not for long, as this is the exact moment the doctor decides to step in.

While this is a good thing, because he doesn’t want Natasha in pain, he’s kind of put off because he really wanted to finish the conversation they were having.  Now, it will have to wait.

After fixing her up and effectively knocking her out, the doctor clears Natasha to leave.  He tells the doctor he’ll make sure she gets home ok and thanks her.

Once she leaves, the first thing he does is call Wanda, so he doesn’t have to juggle caring for Natasha, her crutch, and opening doors. 

“Steven?” she answers after the first ring, “How is Natasha?”

It’s sweet, how Wanda has adopted Natasha as her older, deadly sister, and that she cares so much, as evidenced by the worry in her voice. 

“She’ll be ok,” he answers quickly, in order to alleviate her stress, “the doctor wrapped up her ankle and prescribed some pain meds.  Can you meet us at medical?  I need some help getting everything back to Nat’s place.”

“I’ll be down,” she replies, and then the line goes dead. 

While he waits, he collects Natasha’s paperwork and dons his zip up, stuffing her bottle of pain medication in his pocket for safe keeping.  It only feels like a few seconds have gone by when Wanda gusts through the door, a whirlwind of burgundy and black.

Steve’s gaze zeroes in on the dark circles under her eyes, wondering if she’s been getting enough sleep, and mentally takes note to ask her about it once Natasha is better situated. 

“Hey, thanks for coming down so quickly,” he says as she reaches him, seeing her eyes glance at their teammate.  He places a comforting hand on her shoulder, causing her eyes to focus back on his.

“It was not a problem,” she answers after a moment, brushing a hand through her windswept locks.

Shooting a grateful smile in her direction, he hands her the crutch while he debates the easiest way to get Natasha to her room.  Taking a wheelchair would involve keeping her upright while moving, and waking her up and having her walk with their support definitely isn’t an option.

Instead, he decides to do what he’s wanted to do since he put her down, which is to pick her up in his arms again.  Although the circumstances behind it aren’t great, he loves how small she feels in his arms and the way he can feel her breath against his neck.  He tries to fight the way his body involuntarily shivers to no avail. 

Wanda places the dark blue parka over Natasha in an effort to keep her warm, then reaches down and grabs Natasha’s sneakers from next to the bed.

Once he’s sure they have everything, he motions to Wanda to head out the door before him.  After trekking outside, they make it to the living quarters without problem. 

Using Natasha’s key, they get into her apartment, where Wanda props the crutch against the bedroom door.  The bedroom is clean, save for a hardcover book laying on top of the bedspread, which looks like it was thrown there right before she left. 

“Is there anything else I can do?” Wanda asks, leaning a hip against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I’ve got it from here.  Thanks, Wanda.”

He lays Natasha down gently, making sure not to wake her, one knee on the bed to steady himself.  One of the two pillows she has ends up under her foot so it stays elevated, per the doctor’s orders.  The hardcover is moved so it is out of the way.  Throwing a blanket over her, he checks to make sure she is still asleep, before tucking an escaped hair behind her ear.

The sound of a floorboard creaking catches his attention, his head turning automatically in the direction it came from.  To his surprise, he finds that Wanda is still there, and she gives him this _look_ , a knowing look, before raising her hand and shuffling out of the apartment.

He knows what that knowing look was meant to convey, but he would rather not think about that.  He does what needs to be done, which includes closing the blinds, putting the pills and a glass of water on the nightstand, and creating a spot to bunk down for the night.

After setting up some blankets next to her bed, he runs over to his room to grab a change of clothes so he can shower at Nat’s place.  Thankfully, the shower in her bathroom is identical to his and in no time, he is showered, dressed, fed, and ready for bed after cracking open Natasha’s book for a couple of pages.

He grabs a sharpie and a sticky note from the small desk in the corner of the room and writes his location so Natasha won’t step on him when she wakes up.  He’s a light sleeper anyways, so he plans to help her when the medication wears off. 

Laying down on his self-made bed, he listens to her even breathing.  It doesn’t distract him though, from thinking about what happened today.  Why did she have the note in her badge holder?  That must mean something, right?

He decides there is no use mulling it over, because the only one who has the answers is sleeping soundly above him.  A few deep breaths later, and he’s out. 

 

* * *

 

He wakes up to find something covering his left eye.  Peeling what he realizes is a sticky note off of his forehead, he reads Natasha’s slanted script.

 

_Good morning_

 

He notes that the crutch is gone from the doorway and that the room is oddly quiet.  How the heck did she get up without him hearing?  Or move around the room without a crutch?

He pushes to his feet, the blankets tossed to the side, and goes in search of Natasha.

“Nat?” he calls, waiting to hear a response somewhere in the apartment. 

Only silence greets him.

He wanders in to the kitchen to check his phone, in case she texted him.  He doesn’t get a chance to check though, because there is a sticky note on top of his phone.

 

_I’m in the main kitchen._

 

And then another on the door leading out of the apartment.

 

_Thank you for last night_

And a longer one on the door handle.

 

_If I know you at all, it’s bothering you that you can’t figure out why I had your note.  If you want some answers, come find me._

 

He was already on his way to find her, so with that, he’s out the door and walking straight down the hall to the main kitchen, where he finds Natasha at the counter.  Her leg is hiked up so she looks similar to a flamingo standing in water.  Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she must have changed because she is wearing a pair of black shorts and a tank top. 

She places her mug on the counter and stacks a pancake on the plate next to the burner.

“Hey,” she says when she hears him, “want some breakfast?”

So nonchalant for someone with a bum foot.

She doesn’t wait for his answer, just begins dishing out pancakes onto a second plate.

“You know, you really should have woken me up.  You could have slipped and hurt yourself worse,” he chastens.

She stops with the spatula in mid-air and gives him a look that says she’s not surprised by what he said.  It’s almost as if she expected it, which, since she knows him pretty well, she probably did. 

She shakes her head a little, then continues fixing their plates.

“Steve, it’s ok.  If I had fallen, I would have yelled for you.”

He wants to repeat his statement, to make her understand how worried he felt when he called her name in the apartment and didn’t receive a response.  Instead, he lets out a deep breath, knowing that as much as he wants to protect her, she’s also very capable of handling herself.

She crooks her finger, motioning him over.  He takes the offered plate and his fingers catch on something stuck underneath it.

Pulling off another sticky note, he reads it a few times to make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. 

 

_Because you’re important to me._

 

It takes his brain a moment to understand what it’s related to, when he realizes it’s the answer to why she had his note.  He knows that there are a few people who are important to Natasha, like Clint and Wanda and Fury.  Still, she didn’t have anything of theirs, like a picture or note, so what he comes up with…is that although he’s important, it might be a different kind of important.

Testing his theory, he sets down the plate and takes a step closer to her.  He slides one hand to the small of her back, tugging so that her whole body is pressed to his.  And damn, if that doesn’t feel good.

Her palms rest on his chest, their heads close together.  At this point, breakfast is completely forgotten.

“How important?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

“This important.”

Her lips inch towards his, and he knows what will happen next, the anticipation killing him.  And then their lips touch, her mouth covering his softly.  After one kiss ends, they kiss again and again, a hunger neither of them can seem to satisfy.  His hands bunch up her tank top, seeking the soft skin underneath while hers pull at his t-shirt to bring him closer.

He’s not sure how long they stay that way.  Needing air, he pulls away but keeps his face close to hers, unwilling to lose how intimate and vulnerable the moment is. 

“Does that answer your question?” she whispers, her breath fanning his lips, and he can just tell that she is smirking.

“You might have to repeat that,” he quips.

She seems more than happy to comply.


End file.
